


Threads of Fates

by hikorichan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arithmancy, Comedy, Complete, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Hogwarts, Hogwarts Professors, Mythology References, Norwegian Mythology & Folklore, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Romantic Comedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 12:26:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4479206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hikorichan/pseuds/hikorichan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Severus Snape buys a new set of robes, he has no idea that they will alter his fate… by force if necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Witch, Weave, Wear

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for the 2015 SSHG_Prompfest over on LiveJournal. This is my first attempt at writing comedy, so please tell me if it makes you laugh (or anything else you think) by leaving a comment.
> 
> A quick note so this first chapter makes more sense: The three Norns, Verdandi, Urd, and Skuld, are the three "Fates" of Norwegian Mythology. I've borrowed them to help Severus. 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta team, AdelaideArcher and MelodyLePetit.

**Chapter 1: Witch, Weave, Wear**

 

Severus Snape stepped confidently down Diagon Alley, his ever-present black robes billowing behind him in the wind created by his long strides. There were no long glances or whispers over the appearance of the so-called “Hero Spy” now; the war was eight years past, attentions long ago diverted to other things. 

It was only just November, and already Severus’s students had managed to explode a cauldron and singe his robes beyond repair; he’d been forced to use a precious Saturday to come to the wizarding shopping street in search of a new set. 

Striding along to Madam Malkin’s, Severus cut a path through the crowd with his imposing form when a new shop caught his steely black eyes. A sign with large curling letters exclaimed it was Norns’s Fine Magical Apparel. In smaller block print beneath the name, it stated ‘Improve Your Life with the Best in Wizarding Attire.’

The subtitle was asinine, but there was a particularly handsome set of dark robes in the window, and so Severus diverted his path and stepped through the door, a tiny bell tinkling his arrival as he entered the shop.

Three witches greeted him in harmony: one with black hair, brilliant blue eyes, and a muscular look, the other two appearing to be sisters, blonde with pale grey eyes and willowy bodies.

“Hello, Professor Snape,” said the dark-haired woman, smiling at him. He’d never met her before, but her knowledge of his name did not surprise him—it was an unfortunate consequence of being a war hero and teaching at Hogwarts for a quarter of a century. 

“I am looking for a set of teaching robes,” said Severus, getting right to the point. “The ones in the window, are they for sale?”

“Oh, yes, those would do well for you,” said one of the blonde women, her voice like running water. 

“These robes you have on now, they have done you no favours,” said a soft voice, like a faint winter’s breeze, and Severus was startled to find it coming from the other blonde woman standing next to him; he could have sworn she was still across the room. 

Glaring at the quiet witch as she sent a measuring tape snaking over his body, he snapped, “They have performed as they should.”

“Yes, but it’s time for a change, is it not?” said the watery-voiced sister.

“If you mean to dress me in something bright or frilly, I will leave now,” said Severus, standing tall as a measuring tape lay itself across his shoulders. “I wear black.”

“Of course, you are who you are,” said the same witch, “but I’m sure we can make a few tweaks that would suit you.”

“What exactly did you have in mind?” asked Severus. 

“You could use some more weight on you,” said the dark-haired witch. 

“I am here for robes, not comments on my appearance,” said Severus smoothly. It was true he was rather thin, but he had always been that way and he saw no need to change it now. 

“He looks tired, wouldn’t you say, Urd?” the watery-voiced witch asked her quiet sister.

“I don’t think he has slept well for a very long time, Verdandi,” said Urd, rolling up the measuring tape with a flick of her wand. 

“What exactly do my sleeping habits have to do with robes?” said Severus with a scowl. He was very close to leaving the shop and going to Madam Malkin’s; she, at least, dressed him in silence.

The black-haired witch held up a set of black robes like the ones in the window: the fabric was a fine wool, smooth against his fingers as he took it from her. The stitching looked impeccable, tight and even at the seams. There was even a soft green lining on the inside of the neck and wrists; no one would see it, but it would add comfort. 

“The changing room is over there,” said Urd. Severus nodded and stepped into the small curtained room, quickly divesting himself of his current robes and donning the new ones.

However strange they might be, the three women were excellent seamstresses; the robes felt exquisite against his skin, and he wondered if there was some sort of Softening Charm on the inside of the fabric. 

He stepped out into the main room once more and stood on a pedestal in front of a mirror in the centre of the room. 

“Oh yes, those do suit you well,” said Verdandi. “Don’t you think, Skuld?” 

“I agree,” said the black-haired witch. Given their names and the two blondes’ appearance, he thought the witches must be of Scandinavian descent. 

Severus scrutinised himself in the mirror in front of him, and had to agree with the women: the robes were cut in just the right places to accentuate his lithe frame, pulling attention to his strong shoulders and narrow hips. His face was nothing to be proud of, but his body, at least, he was pleased with.

“They seem adequate,” said Severus. 

“We also have some lovely new dress robe designs,” said Urd.

“I have no need for dress robes,” said Severus. 

“No ladies you wish to take out?” asked Skuld.

“If you do not stop asking personal questions I shall go elsewhere,” Snape snapped. 

“There is one,” Urd breathed beside him, nearly making him jump. He scowled at the witch once more; there was something very unnerving about her. 

“What did you say?” he asked. 

Urd did not reply, but sent knowing glances to Verdandi and Skuld, as if passing along important information. 

“I would like to purchase these,” said Severus, feeling anxious to leave. 

“There is one more addition that I think would be welcome,” said Skuld.

“And what is that?” asked Severus in a low voice.

The witch waved her wand in a fluid movement, and Severus felt the tingle of magic. He looked into the mirror to find narrow swirls of silver embroidery had been added around the collar and cuffs. The change was subtle, but he had to admit it did add a certain elegance to the look.

“Yes, yes, you look like a changed man already,” said Verdandi with a smile. 

“How much?” asked Severus. 

“One hundred galleons,” said Skuld.

“Ridiculous,” said Severus, shocked at the price, but knowing already he would pay it. He’d never had a pair of robes fit him so well or feel as comfortable. 

“Oh, these are no ordinary robes, Professor Snape,” said Verdandi.

“I weave the fabric by hand,” said Urd. 

“I sew them,” said Verdandi.

“And I add the details and charms,” said Skuld. 

“Very well,” said Severus. He summoned his old robes from the floor, transferring his belongings to his new robes (they even had additional pockets!), leaving his coin purse in his hand so he could pay. 

His new garment bought and paid for, he shrunk his old robes and shoved them and his purse into his pocket. 

“Enjoy and live well, Professor Snape,” said the three witches in unison. 

Severus nodded his head at their strange goodbye, and exited the shop. 

He had no idea that his new set of robes was about to change his life.


	2. Push, Poke, Prod

**Chapter 2: Push, Poke, Prod**

 

Severus awoke the next morning sprawled on his bed, still wearing his new robes. He didn’t remember falling asleep, only that he’d thought that lying down for a moment seemed like a good idea. He was surprised he’d managed to sleep through the night: normally he was an insomniac, getting at most two or three hours of rest. 

Stretching in the soft green glow of his dungeon rooms, he rose from bed, heading to the bathroom to complete his morning ablutions. Casting quick charms to freshen the robes and smooth out any wrinkles, he took one last look in the mirror—not that it mattered; he was an ugly sod no matter what he did—before exiting his rooms for the day. 

The corridors were still quiet as he headed for the staff room, most of the students preferring a lie in on a Sunday morning. Severus’s eyes scanned the room as he entered: Filius Flitwick was chatting animatedly to Bathsheda Babbling, the Ancient Runes Professor, and Neville Longbottom, who had taken over teaching Herbology one year ago after Pomona Sprout’s retirement. Severus did not care about these professors, however, nor the others standing by the counter that held breakfast. 

His eyes drifted to where he knew he would likely find the bushy-haired woman he was searching for: and there she was, seated in an old armchair in the corner of the room, absorbed in a thick tome, a muffin and a cup of tea forgotten on the nearby side table. 

Oh yes, he’d had feelings for Professor Hermione Granger for over a year, his affections growing unintentionally and unexpectedly as they worked together. She taught Arithmancy, taking over from Professor Vector three years ago. It was fortunate, he thought, that their subjects allowed them to collaborate so often; it had only taken a single project for Severus to realise the witch was nothing like he remembered from her school days. She was still a bookworm, but had matured considerably, no longer simply regurgitating the library; she was logical, critical, passionate, brilliant, and beautiful—not that he would admit these things to anyone; it was bad enough he had admitted them to himself. 

It only took two projects for him to fall irrevocably in love with her. 

It was really a pity that Severus was, well… himself. 

Severus wasn’t heartless, but he also wasn’t stupid: when it came to a choice in partners, he knew he was about as eligible as one of Hagrid’s blast-ended skrewts. And Hermione was (thank Merlin) not Hagrid, out to fall in love with every fire-breathing, spine-covered, venom-spitting creature she met. 

Satisfied with the knowledge of Hermione’s presence for the moment, Severus strode over to the sideboard and poured a cup of coffee. As he looked for a spoon, he felt something firmly nudge his wrist, pushing his hand over what looked to be a carrot muffin. 

Severus’s typical breakfast included only three cups of coffee, but not wanting to look a fool or be disparaged for contaminating the pastries, he picked up the muffin while simultaneously scowling at Phillip Jones, the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. The young wizard was laughing with Sinistra, dimples forming at the edges of his mouth as he smiled and gestured rather forcefully; clearly he had bumped Severus’s arm in the process. The man was lucky he hadn’t knocked over Severus’s cup of coffee, or he may have ended up on the dangerous end of Severus’s wand. 

Severus had been waiting for an excuse to hex the wizard ever since he started at Hogwarts. 

Severus’s dislike for Jones wasn’t because the female population of the school had developed a new enthusiasm for the subject of Defence ever since Jones had started teaching it. Nor was it because Jones stood like some blonde demigod, with a muscular body, sculpted jaw, blue eyes, and a wholly perfect, normal-sized nose. No, Severus found him infuriating because the wizard was too cheerful and too friendly to be genuine. He made Severus suspicious. The wizard had to have flaws; he _had_ to. No one could be so bloody perfect. The worst of it was he was single, and spent far too much time speaking to Hermione. It was enough to send Severus into an angry fit. Not that he did; he didn’t want to look like some uncontrolled baboon, so he satisfied himself with eviscerating him with hexes in the private sanctuary of his own imagination. 

Taking his cup of coffee and the unwanted muffin with him, he sat at his normal spot near the end of the staff table and summoned the morning’s copy of _The Daily Prophet_. It was a load of rubbish, of course, but one didn’t want to be behind the times lest a certain witch decide to strike him up in conversation. It paid to know what was going on. 

As he went to fold back the paper so he could peruse the inside pages, Severus felt another sharp tug against his wrist, and once again found his hand was resting against the muffin. 

Severus looked next to him, but saw only empty chairs.

_Odd_ , he thought. He must have imagined the sensation. But perhaps a small taste of the muffin wouldn’t be so terrible. He put down his paper and ripped off a small chunk of cake, putting it into his mouth.

_Too sweet_ , he thought, glancing towards Hermione. _How can she eat these?_

He went to wash it down with a sip of coffee only to feel his hand forced onto the muffin once more.

He scowled, looking around the room. He had not imagined it that time: someone was clearly fucking with him. 

“Good muffin, Severus?” asked Jones, sitting down next to him. Severus narrowed his eyes at the wizard, thinking he had discovered the source of his arm’s muffin-attraction this morning. 

“Better than whatever you had, I’m sure,” said Severus smoothly, determined not to let the young wizard know he was onto him. He broke off another chunk and popped it in his mouth, forcing himself not to grimace as the sweetness covered his tongue.

“Ha! You are probably right,” said Jones with a smile, showing his perfectly straight, white teeth. “I had one of the danishes. The elves went a little overboard on the icing this morning.”

“A muffin, Severus? I thought you never ate breakfast,” said Hermione, plopping herself down on Severus’s other side. His heart gave a happy thump at her arrival. 

“This morning, for some reason,” he said and glared sideways at Jones, “I felt compelled to have something.”

He took another bite of the muffin and this time couldn’t help but grimace. Deciding he couldn’t stomach anymore, he went to vanish the offending pastry, only to have his wand-arm tugged once more. The double action sent his hand crashing down on the muffin, flattening it against the table with a dull thud.

He heard Hermione snort next to him. 

“Whoa, what did that muffin do to you?” asked Jones, his eyes wide as Severus dusted bits of cake from his hand.

“You’ll find I can react rather badly when I feel forced or threatened,” said Severus smoothly, vanishing the evidence of his obliterated pastry. 

“He’s right, you know, I’ve seen it,” said Hermione from beside him. Severus glanced at her and found her smiling at him. 

“I bet you’ve seen lots of things,” said Jones, and Severus rolled his eyes. _Bloody flirt._

“Not as much as Severus,” said Hermione. 

“Yes, well, I do have two decades on you,” said Severus, irritation creeping into his voice. “Excuse me, I require another cup of coffee.”

Severus went to stand, only to find himself stuck securely to his chair. His eyes went wide in shock for a moment before he clamped down on his expression. His gaze went to Jones, who was being engaged by Madam Pomfrey on his other side. Severus tried to move each body part in turn: he could move his legs from the knees down, his arms and head were free, as was his back, but his arse was well and truly fixed to his chair. 

“Didn’t you say you were going to get coffee, Severus?” asked Hermione.

“There is more than one way to get coffee,” said Severus with a sneer, sending his empty cup zooming over to the sideboard to refill itself, even as he tried to figure out how he had managed to become stuck to the ruddy chair.

Somehow he doubted Jones was skilled enough or sneaky enough to both glue him to his chair and force breakfast on him—the man was a Hufflepuff, after all, and Severus was an ex-spy and skilled in the Dark Arts. 

Severus cast a silent Finite Incantatum on his buttocks as his coffee cup floated back to him, and then shifted delicately in his seat only to find himself still firmly stuck in place. 

He took a sip of his coffee with a huff, feeling his anger rise like acid in his throat. Severus hated not being in control, and liked being caught by surprise even less. Had his bottom not been stuck to his chair, he would have held the entire room at wandpoint and demanded the perpetrator come forward. However, as he did not wish to do so looking like a hunchback with a chair stuck to his backside, he opted for a more subtle approach. 

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall came into the room as Severus was simultaneously attempting to unstick his arse from his chair and to figure out how the hell it had gotten stuck there in the first place—all without saying a word or moving a muscle besides lifting his coffee to his lips and back down to the table, of course. 

He ignored Minerva (this, in itself, was not unusual), but noticed Hermione straighten herself a little in her chair out of the corner of his eye. 

Severus had run out of potential counter-spells by the time the headmistress called the meeting to order, and spent the next thirty minutes of her agenda performing complicated curse-detection spells with his wand in his lap.

“What are you doing, Severus?” Hermione whispered quietly as Minerva began speaking about coverage for the Christmas holidays.

“None of your business,” said Severus smoothly, irritated but also slightly impressed that she had noticed. 

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him defiantly, but said nothing. 

Severus was focused on a very complicated non-verbal charm-detection spell when Minerva said, “Now, are there any volunteers to chaperone the upcoming Hogsmeade weekend?” 

Severus tried to ignore Hermione flinging her hand into the air just as it had as a precocious eleven-year old. “I will, Minerva,” she said brightly.

“Thank you, Hermione. We need one more. Anyone else care to volunteer before I assign someone?”

Severus felt a strong tug on his wrist, and then his arm was thrown upwards against his will. Severus gawked at his long fingers hanging in the air, momentarily just as wide-eyed as Minerva at his apparent volunteering. 

“Severus?” asked Minerva.

“Apparently, I will also volunteer,” Severus sneered, and the upwards pressure on his arm stopped at once, allowing him to lower his arm to his side once more. 

“Well, that’s unexpected. Thank you, Severus,” said Minerva with a stunned expression. 

Hermione was staring at him sideways, looking suspicious. 

_As you should be, witch_ , Severus thought moodily. _As am I. What the hell is going on?_

He began recasting the charm-detection spell as Minerva brought the meeting to a close, but wound up just as disappointed as with the previous spells: it told him nothing. Yet someone or something had control of his limbs and his arse.

Was it possible he’d accidentally set off some latent joke item of the Weasley twins’? It seemed unlikely—one of his spells would have turned up something. Quite probably this was magic he had never encountered before. 

He wondered with momentary horror whether he’d be stuck to the chair forever as his colleagues moved around him, rising from their chairs as Severus sat glued to his own. 

“Is everything all right, Severus?” asked Hermione softly from next to him, looking concerned.

“Positively peachy,” said Severus, unable to cover the hint of sarcasm in his tone. _Now bugger off so I can fix this mess and then murder whoever did it._

“All right,” said Hermione, looking unconvinced. She paused when she reached the door. “Aren’t you coming?” 

All of a sudden, Severus felt himself propelled from his seat, and if he wasn’t so quick he would have stumbled. His new robes billowing impressively, he strode to Hermione’s side and opened the door. 

“Apparently, I am,” he said smoothly, and followed Hermione into the corridor.

Back in his office, the stack of essays he’d meant to mark sat forgotten on his desk. 

Blowing air forcefully from his nostrils, he mentally calculated if there were any remaining spells he could try to detect what had occurred in the staff room that morning, only to quickly decide he had tried everything. 

More than Severus hated surprises, he hated not being able to figure things out.

Muttering to himself, he sat and began marking essays. His students would find his comments even more acerbic than usual the next day.

* * *

When neither his limbs nor his arse were forced to do anything against his will by dinnertime, Severus believed he was beyond whatever had happened during the staff meeting.

He was wrong, of course. 

This he discovered at supper, when he found his arm shoved forcefully and repeatedly towards his fork and then his beef stew. It was like a scene from a horror movie except involving dull cutlery and chunks of turnip and dumplings.

Horrified at what his colleagues and students would think of his arms trying to force-feed him against his will, Severus shovelled stew into his mouth until his dish was empty, and then scowled down the High Table, attempting to determine who his controller was. 

Jones, suspect number one in Severus’s mind, was missing. Who else could it be?

He hadn’t been particularly cruel to any of the other professors, though Slytherin had won the last Quidditch match, much to Minerva’s displeasure. He eyed the witch, who was sitting in the high-backed chair in the centre of the table and speaking animatedly with Filius. 

Severus sighed. _No, even Minerva isn’t so petty as to curse me for winning at Quidditch. Plus she wasn’t in the room this morning during the Muffin Incident._

His eyes travelled to Hermione at the far end of the table. She was laughing at something Neville was saying—how she could find the wizard funny he had no idea—and despite the din of student voices, her soft trill floated lightly down to Severus’s ears, making the corners of his mouth twitch upwards slightly behind his steepled hands. 

Returning his face to an expressionless mask, Severus looked over the long table in front of him, pleased to see his Slytherins were behaving. He was about to take a sip of his tea when he was forced upwards and out of his chair so hard his chair nearly collided with Hermione as she passed behind him on her way to the staff exit. 

She squeaked, jumping sideways, and Severus grimaced. 

_Bloody fucking hell!_

“I apologise, Hermione, I did not see you there,” he said quietly, shoving his chair back under the table with one hand. 

“That’s all right, Severus,” she said with a tight smile. 

They walked in silence towards the staff exit, when Severus once again felt himself propelled forward, his wrist landing with a dull thud against the doorknob. Wincing at the bolt of pain that shot up his arm, Severus clutched the knob in his hand and opened the door, ushering Hermione inside.

“After you,” he hissed between clenched teeth.

_When I figure out who’s doing this, I am feeding them to the Giant Squid. In very tiny pieces._

“Thank you, Severus,” said Hermione, passing by him with a whoosh of robes. 

Closing the door softly behind them, Severus took a moment to steady himself before following Hermione into the Entrance Hall. He was about to turn towards the dungeons when he felt himself shoved forward towards Hermione once more. 

This time Severus lost his footing and they collided, Hermione shrieking loudly as Severus’s body connected with hers arms-first. Feeling them both falling, Severus quickly wrapped his arms around her and then reared himself backwards, narrowly saving them from crashing onto the hard stone floor.

Severus did not get to enjoy the feeling of Hermione in his arms for more than a second when he noticed a wide-eyed student gaping at them. 

This situation, then, Severus realised quickly, was not the result of a devious spell, but of a student who was not watching where he was going.

“Five points from Hufflepuff for failing to keep your eyes and your feet in the same direction,” said Severus, jerking backwards from Hermione and glaring at the small boy, who scampered off without a word. 

“Are you all right?” he asked Hermione, who nodded and smiled.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, not quite meeting his eyes. “Um… good night then, Severus.”

“Good night,” said Severus with a nod. 

As Severus strode towards the dungeon, the only thing he could think about was how when he’d fallen forward, his hand had pressed against Hermione’s left boob. It was quite soft and plump. And then there was the lovely moment where she was wrapped in his arms, her curly hair tickling his chin. 

His lips twitching into a private smile, he confirmed that no one else was in the hallway and said, “Ten points to Hufflepuff.”


	3. Rip, Roar, Ruin

**Chapter 3: Rip, Roar, Ruin**

 

Severus yawned over his bubbling cauldron later that evening, feeling uncharacteristically tired. Most people would say he had a stressful day and was rightfully tired, but this was Severus: stress typically only worsened his insomnia. 

He still hadn’t figured out who had been controlling him during mealtimes. That fact alone should have made sleep impossible. 

And yet he found himself stifling another yawn despite the early hour — ten o’clock — and reluctantly cast a Stasis Charm over his cauldron before heading to his bedroom. Once in his quarters, he stripped off his robes, leaving them draped over a wing-back chair, and donned his grey nightshirt. 

He had no intention of going to sleep just yet, even if he was feeling fatigued. It had been a few weeks since he allowed himself a good wank, and several months since he had new material to add to his imaginary tryst with Hermione—and never anything so visceral as the feeling of Hermione’s breast and her hot breath panting against his neck as he held her. Plus he had a brand new book waiting on his bedside table he wanted to start reading afterwards. 

Crawling into bed, he lifted his nightshirt over his hips, imagining holding fistfuls of Hermione’s soft tits as she straddled him. 

_Oh, yes, this is going to be good_ , he thought, and reached down and grasped his hardened cock in his hand, feeling a surge of pleasure radiate into his balls.

And then, as if someone had cast a silent Sleeping Spell, he fell asleep.

* * *

Severus grumbled when he awoke the next morning, as if his vocal chords knew he should be disappointed even before his brain had come to. 

As his eyes fluttered open, he found it strange to be feeling rested. He went to stretch, his arms rising over his head and his toes curling under the sheets, but there was something odd about his arms that made him pause before he reached his full extension. He scowled at his long limbs for several seconds. There was something definitely wrong with them as they hung above his head, covered in rich black fabric, silver embroidery shimmering in the soft morning light. 

It was then he realised he was dressed not in his grey nightshirt, but in robes. 

Bolting out of bed, he stared down at his body. And there he was: dressed in his handsome new robes as if he’d never taken them off the night before. 

And then he realised that he could not remember falling asleep, nor even finishing his wank. He wasn’t sure what was worse: missing an opportunity for a good manual release, or waking up fully dressed. In either case they were without his consent, and not to be tolerated. 

“Sully!” he shouted, his booming voice echoing throughout the dungeon chamber. 

There was a soft pop, and his house elf appeared in front of him, staring up at Severus with watery, globe-like eyes. 

“Why have you been dressing me in my sleep?” Severus snarled. 

“I hasn’t!” squeaked Sully, shaking his head emphatically.

“Then why am I wearing my robes?”

“Old magics, sir. Sully doesn’t do them!” 

“Old magic?” asked Severus intently. 

Sully nodded, the tips of his long ears bobbing with each vertical dip of his head.

“Did the old magic put me to sleep last night as well?” 

The elf nodded again. 

“I see,” said Severus, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “You may go, Sully.”

Severus began pacing before the elf disappeared with another pop. 

Someone had cursed him with old magic.

It was clever. Very clever. By using old magic, whoever had cast the spell ensured that Severus could not discover it with any of his detection spells. 

Somehow the curse—for it had to be a curse, Severus believed—activated during mealtimes, dressed him in his robes in the morning, and put him to sleep.

_Yes, I was wearing my robes yesterday morning too… and I slept through both nights._

Which meant that whoever had cast it had done it on Saturday before he’d gone to bed. 

Except he hadn’t seen anyone since returning from Diagon Alley. And the only place he’d gone in Diagon Alley was…

_The shop! Those witches! My new robes! It has to be in the robes!_

At the time, Severus thought the three witches were simply nosy. Apparently they were nosy and meddlesome.

Severus quickly made to remove the offending garment, only to find it stuck to his body as if it was adhered with a Permanent Sticking Charm. He couldn’t undo even a single button.

Roaring in rage, he glanced at the clock, which showed it was just before eight o’clock in the morning.

_Blast! Definitely not enough time to go to Diagon Alley before class._

He considered cancelling his morning lessons, only to decide against it: he’d need a good reason to do so, and while he had several poisons in his private stores, he didn’t fancy drinking any of them to make himself sick. Doing so would mean missing at least a full day, and he had far too much to do.

He’d simply have to wait until the lunch hour.

Then those three witches would find out why nobody messed with Severus Snape.

_‘Improve Your Life with the Best in Wizarding Attire’ indeed. Fucking hags._

* * *

Hermione was leaving the Great Hall as Severus arrived for breakfast.

“Good morning, Severus,” she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Good morning, Hermione,” Severus replied with a nod. She smiled nervously at him and then walked towards the stairs, leaving Severus to continue on his way. 

Severus plopped into his usual chair with a sigh, intent on consuming a cup of coffee before returning to his classroom. His robes, apparently, had other ideas, and forced him to consume two pieces of toast before he was freed from his chair. 

It wasn’t until second period that Severus realised the robes had intentions beyond feeding him and making him sleep. 

The class was a group of fourth year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, which unfortunately included a boy that made Neville Longbottom look like a Potions savant (if this boy had been sorted into Gryffindor instead of Hufflepuff, the red house would have been in last place purely from the points Severus would have taken). They were brewing a Wit Sharpening Potion when Severus noticed the boy about to tip anaconda bile into his potion instead of armadillo bile—combined with the ginger root already in the cauldron, it would have created a poison gas potent enough to kill half the room and severely maim the rest. 

“STOP RIGHT THERE, DIGBY!” Severus shouted, flicking his wand and vanishing the anaconda bile before the boy could poison them all. “I have never, in over two decades of teaching, met anyone as blindingly—” 

He meant to finish his sentence with a choice insult and the insinuation that Digby’s mother must have fucked a troll, for it was not possible for two humans to conceive anyone so stupid. But instead he only produced a noise not unlike that of a kneazle choking on a hairball as the collar of his robes tightened severely around his throat. 

All fifteen students turned to watch him in horror as he gasped for air and clawed at his neck. 

“Professor Snape, sir, are you all right?” squeaked a Ravenclaw girl after several moments. 

The robes, apparently satisfied he was not going to insult someone for asking how he was, loosened, and Severus sucked in a deep breath.

“Go back to work!” he shouted, twirling in a menacing swirl of black fabric. 

_Die… the witches are going to die… slowly… painfully…_

* * *

Severus stared up at the vacant storefront where only two days before Norns’s Fine Magical Apparel had been. Not even the sign remained.

_Of course they’re bloody gone. Probably left the ruddy country._

Severus scowled deeply, pressing his fingers into his temples. He felt a headache coming on.

Turning on the spot, he Apparated back to Hogwarts.

* * *

Severus managed to finish his afternoon classes without getting strangled, though it took an immense amount of self control to limit himself to deducting points when a third year Gryffindor nearly blew up her cauldron. 

He stomped out of his classroom immediately after the bell, knowing that Hermione never ate before six; he normally marked essays so he could eat at the same time as her, but this evening he could not risk getting stuck to his chair until she decided to leave (he’d deduced at lunchtime that his robes also had a thing for the witch when he was once more forcefully ejected from his chair and made to follow her out). He shovelled his dinner into his mouth so quickly that he barely registered what he was eating, only knowing it meant the bloody robes would leave him alone. When he was finished, he stalked back down to his quarters intent on relieving himself of the garments permanently.

He tried to remove them manually once more to find them still firmly glued in place. Neither a Disrobing Charm nor a Vanishing Spell did anything. Neither did any other of several spells he tried. 

“Now see here!” he shouted at them, losing his temper. “I am perfectly happy with my life! I do not need a pair of bloody robes controlling me!” 

He waved his wand, casting several more spells, one after the next, all of which did nothing. 

“Woollen tormentors! Violated dragon scat! Filthy ma—“ 

He could not finish his string of expletives as the robes tightened around his throat again. 

This time they loosened almost immediately, and Severus screamed, sending a Blasting Spell towards the mantle, where a candlestick exploded into a fine dust that hovered in the air like a cloud.

Attempting to quell his anger, he took several deep breaths and began pacing. 

Right… well, he knew he wasn’t stuck in his robes forever: he’d taken them off last night when he felt tired. He’d just have to wait until ten o’clock. 

_Might as well be bloody productive in the meantime._

His footfalls sounding not unlike a dragon’s, he stomped down to his laboratory to brew several acids that, if they worked, would dissolve the robes into steaming grey piles of sludge.

* * *

Severus couldn’t help but grin as he peeled off his robes as the clock showed 10:01. Rather than setting them down and going to bed like the night before, he stood buck naked in his private laboratory and tossed them into a cauldron of bubbling green liquid, watching them sink and spittle with delight.

Once they had disappeared entirely, he poked the solution with a stirring rod. Feeling nothing but liquid, he gave a triumphant holler and then glided happily up to his bedroom. 

No one was going to stop him from having a wank this night! Oh yes, he was going to jerk off well—possibly twice—and then read his new book until four in the morning. 

It was going to be brilliant. Meddling witches and their robes be damned. 

He flopped down on his bed, feeling smug as he stretched out his lean body, still naked and cock hardening at the prospect of fondling.

He didn’t even get to touch it before he fell asleep.

* * *

To say Severus felt put out the next morning when he woke up wearing the robes once more would be like waking up to a hurricane and calling it a pleasant breeze. 

In fact, he was so angry that not one, but several of the hairs at his temples chose that precise moment to turn from black to grey, and a mouse that thought his bedroom might make a comfortable new home decided it would be better off on the other side of the Irish Sea. 

Not that Severus noticed any of this. 

He was too busy screaming and throwing his belongings around his room.

His room left in a state that would take Sully and two additional house elves all day to clean, Severus reluctantly left his quarters for breakfast. 

Refusing to let his robes embarrass him, he walked past his normal seat in front of Slytherin table and settled himself down next to Hermione. 

“Oh! Good morning, Severus,” said Hermione, looking surprised. 

“Good morning,” said Severus smoothly, taking a piece of toast before his robes could decide he’d prefer a pastry. 

“I don’t normally see you down this end of the table,” she said with a nervous smile, taking a sip of tea.

“I decided I needed a change in scenery,” said Severus silkily, focusing on spreading a thin layer of marmalade on his bread.

“What about your students?”

“Certainly you aren’t suggesting that my immediate presence is the only thing that makes my Slytherins behave?” Severus asked, a dark brow curving upwards into a question.

“Of course not,” said Hermione with a grin. “Your new seat clearly has no bearing on why Lincoln MacDonald is currently spelling out swear words in the air with jam.”

Severus’s head shot over to the Slytherin table to find his students quietly huddled over their breakfasts. There were no letters in the air, nor a splotch of raspberry jam in sight.

Hermione laughed softly as he turned back to her with narrowed eyes.

“You’re too easy,” she chortled.

“Most people would know better than to tease me,” said Severus darkly, though he secretly adored the way she was grinning at him. 

“Oh pish,” said Hermione, swatting him on the arm. “You can’t trick me with that evil bastard persona of yours.”

“Ah, but it’s not a trick. I really am an evil bastard,” said Severus silkily, feeling his hand shoved towards a second piece of toast. _And so are these robes._

“If you’re an evil bastard, then I’m Wizarding Britain’s most eligible witch,” said Hermione. 

_I wouldn’t be so sure that you aren’t_ , thought Severus, but to Hermione he only smirked and then returned to his breakfast.

* * *

“Don’t think I’ve given up my attempts to destroy you,” said Severus to his robes when he returned to his quarters that evening.

Acid clearly hadn’t worked. But he still had fire, curses, hexes, and banishment to try.

Destruction by fire, he discovered, did not work. If the robes had been able to speak, they would have been laughing like Wendelin the Weird being tickled at the stake as she was surrounded by flames. Sadly, any other manner of spell or dark object was equally useless. 

Sinking them to the bottom of the Black Lake, leaving them in a tree in the Forbidden Forest, allowing Grawp to rip them to pieces, and Apparating to a particularly squalid alley in London and giving them to a dirty tramp were also unsuccessful. 

Each morning he would awake fully dressed, and each morning he felt a little less angry and a little more depressed. Nevertheless, he was determined to rid himself of the garments, for if one thing was certain, it was that never again would he allow someone or something to control his life.

The robes could bloody well sod off. Dark and powerful wizards they were not.

At least the robes seemed to limit themselves to the realms of eating, sleeping, swearing, and interactions with Hermione.

If it hadn’t been forced, he wouldn’t have minded how much time he was spending with Hermione. He’d taken to usurping the robes and sitting next to her at every meal so he could follow her out without incident. Not that he would admit that it was a nice change. Oh, no, not even his semi-sentient robes could make him admit he enjoyed Hermione’s company and thanks to his complete inability to wank, often had a hard-on beneath the table as he sat next to her. 

He was considering getting a portkey to Africa on Saturday so he could leave the robes with a sphinx when he remembered the offending garment had volunteered him for chaperone duty. At least, he supposed, he would be with Hermione. As long as the robes didn’t make him do anything too embarrassing. 

It was a rare piece of good luck that they didn’t have control over his tongue.


	4. Fear, Fall, Floor

**Chapter 4: Fear, Fall, Floor**

 

Severus found himself not angry, but nervous when he woke up on Saturday morning dressed once again in his robes. The prospect of spending an entire day with Hermione while wearing his abominable clothing made him anxious; Merlin knew what his robes might force him to do. 

It was one thing to accidentally touch Hermione’s boob mid-stumble; it was quite another to be forced to grope one like a breakfast muffin. 

In front of his students.

In the middle of Hogsmeade.

Without invitation.

He considered for a moment not getting out of bed at all, but his frustrating sense of duty and the thought that Hermione might try to find him in his chambers forced him out from under the covers. 

Hermione was waiting for him in the Entrance Hall after breakfast and they exited the castle together. The walk was peaceful, most students already gone on ahead in their eagerness to escape the castle, and the sky was a mixture of light blue and fluffy white clouds, the sun shining weakly upon the earth.

“We’re lucky it’s a nice day,” said Hermione, who was wearing a dark grey cloak over eggplant-coloured robes.

“If one believes giving up a whole Saturday to watch children act like hormonal imbeciles in public is nice,” drawled Severus, his heavy boots crunching on the snowy path that led towards the gates.

Hermione shook her head, but did not reply, which suited Severus just fine. She looked lost in thought for several minutes, and then turned to him with a curious expression. 

“Severus, why did you volunteer to chaperone today?” she asked. 

“My robes made me do it,” said Severus baldly. He added a touch of sarcasm to his voice so that Hermione could interpret his words as a joke.

“Very funny, Severus,” she said, rolling her eyes. 

_I have yet to find the humour in it._

“I assume that means you won’t tell me?” Hermione asked, looking resigned. 

“I assure you, I am not here out of the goodness of my heart,” he said in response. 

“So you admit you have one, then?”

“It is as black and shrivelled as a bezoar,” Severus purred. 

“And yet a bezoar can save a life,” said Hermione, smiling at him with genuine affection. His shrivelled heart gave a small but noticeable thud in his chest. Severus said nothing in reply, choosing instead to glare at the footprints in the snow as they walked. 

His robes, however, had other plans, and nudged him sideways so he was walking close enough to Hermione that the hairs on his arms raised in response. Severus took a step to the right again, reestablishing some space, only to be nudged a little more forcefully to his left. 

Resigning himself to walking closer to Hermione than he was comfortable with, Severus scowled and trudged on, relieved when they reached the High Street and he could vent his frustrations by yelling at a pair of Gryffindors who were snogging in an alleyway beside Gladrags Wizardwear. 

_Why the fuck didn’t I buy my robes there?_ Severus thought as the students scampered away.

“Should we split up to cover more ground?” asked Hermione as they continued onwards down the road.

Severus’s robes were apparently worried about Severus’s potential response to Hermione’s question, for they shoved Severus forcefully next to her, causing Severus’s arm to bump against hers. 

“No, I think it would be better if we remained together,” he said smoothly. 

Hermione chuckled. “And here I thought you’d be pleased to stalk off alone.”

“And be forced to part with such pleasant company?” asked Severus sardonically, even as he cursed himself internally for having to say it. He really would have preferred to spend the day alone; not because he disliked Hermione’s company, but because it greatly reduced the chances for his robes to embarrass him further in front of her. His robes, however, were insistent he remain with her, and each time he lagged behind, they gave him a firm shove in her direction. 

He could only hope she didn’t notice him stumbling and jerking around her like a drunken vampire in search of her blood.

Besides the fact he was apparently no longer permitted to be further than two metres away from Hermione, his robes otherwise left him alone for much the day as they walked back and forth through the village, disciplining students who took a little too much liberty during their free time. 

At six o’clock the students had all returned to the castle for dinner, and Severus was about to suggest they do the same when he found his wrist forcefully placed between Hermione’s bicep and her torso, his fingers instinctively wrapping around her arm, and then his body pulling them both into The Three Broomsticks. 

“Dinner?” he asked, attempting to appear nonchalant even as he was mentally cursing at his clothing.

Honestly, did the robes have no sense of gallantry? Dragging her forcibly out to dinner was not how he imagined courting Hermione; not that he ever planned on courting Hermione—there was only one way that could turn out, which was yet another reason to worry about his robes’ interference. Having Hermione think he was a disgusting old pervert was not a part of his plans.

“Oh, that would be lovely, Severus,” said Hermione, her face turning from shock to surprise and then her lips curled into a soft smile. 

As they made their way towards a table at the back of the room, Severus’s robes sent him careening towards the bar. Severus could only call, “I’ll get drinks,” over his shoulder as Hermione shook her head in amusement and sat down to wait. 

He was actually surprised that he was able to deliver their drinks and menus and sit down without his robes doing something abhorrent like make him spill wine over Hermione’s front, and dinner passed by in pleasant conversation. 

When the bill fluttered over to land on their table, however, Severus nearly spilled his drink as his arm lifted and then slammed his hand forcefully down over it with a bang that echoed through the pub. 

“It’s on me,” said Severus with a bitter smile, crumpling the paper in his fingers.

And after that embarrassing display, Severus found his hand at the small of Hermione’s back as they exited the front door. He was surprised that she didn’t flinch outwardly, but then she was always very polite. 

After another too-close walk back to the castle, Severus was relieved to reach the Entrance Hall and the possibility, if not for peace, then at least the possibility of being embarrassed in private. 

“You’ve been acting very oddly this past week, Severus,” said Hermione offhandedly as they paused in the middle of the hall. “Why is that?”

“You can’t even begin to imagine,” said Severus dryly. 

“Enlighten me, then,” said Hermione. 

“Trust me, you don’t want to know,” said Severus bitterly. 

_I rather wish I didn’t either._

“Quite the mysterious man today, aren’t you? I’m not letting you get off so easily, you know,” said Hermione with a grin. “Walk me to my rooms?”

This was a request Severus knew his robes would allow him to not deny, and so he nodded and they began to climb the stairs towards the sixth floor. 

“You never did answer my first question, you know,” said Hermione as they walked down a darkened corridor. 

“What question?”

“Don’t act stupid, Severus, it doesn’t suit you,” she said flippantly. “Why did you come to Hogsmeade today?” 

“I already told you,” Severus said smoothly. 

“Oh, yes, your robes, was it?” she asked with a roll of her eyes.

 _Yes, my bloody fucking robes_ , Severus thought, but to Hermione he only let out a huff of breath.

Hermione stopped in the middle of the hall and turned to face him full on. 

“I also noticed you changed your seat to be next to mine during meal times,” she said. “And you have these handsome new robes. And you bought me dinner and drinks tonight after pretty much forcing me into the pub. All together, you’ve really been acting in rather a Gryffindor way, wouldn’t you say?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Severus said smoothly, his heart beginning to thrum nervously. 

“Can I present a theory to you?”

Severus nodded, his face expressionless, though inside he was beginning to panic. Hermione was intelligent and intuitive, and he really _had_ been acting like a Gryffindor thanks to his robes.

Hermione took a deep breath and met his eyes; he felt like her chestnut-coloured orbs were looking straight through into his soul, and he prepared himself for the worst. 

“I think you like me,” she said quietly.

“You are the least annoying of my colleagues, I admit,” said Severus silkily, hoping he could steer the conversation away from its inevitable end. 

Of course, his robes had a completely different idea about how to respond and Severus felt his whole body being pushed towards Hermione. He could only blink when he discovered his robes had pressed them both against the wall, Hermione trapped beneath his larger body, his forearm next to her head; he tried to move it, but of course the bloody appendage was glued in place. 

If he’d been alone, he would have started swearing. 

_No, no… this can’t be happening… Oh Gods, she’s going to hate me!_

He had no idea how to get himself out of this situation. His position made anything he might say completely inappropriate or downright laughable; it was hard to act like nothing important was happening when you were glued to a bloody wall. 

He could feel the heat rising from Hermione’s body, feel the space between them shrink every time she inhaled. His heart felt like it was about to give out. He stared at her forehead and tried to ignore the swell of her breasts and the fact his body was betraying him completely by getting aroused.

He’d resigned himself to being fired and forcibly expelled from the castle for sexual assault when Hermione’s eyelids drooped and she stretched herself taller against the wall so their faces were closer. 

“Is that all you really think of me as, a colleague?” she asked. 

_No…_

“Hermione, I…” he began, his voice a low rumble between them, but he could not think of a way to finish his sentence. 

“You know what I think?” 

_Don’t say it…_

“I think you like me as much more than a colleague,” she said, her voice unusually husky. “In fact… I think you want me, Severus Snape.”

It was only then he noticed that she wasn’t screaming or pushing him away; nor was she telling him off or calling him a pervert. 

_Could she…? Was it possible…?_

He swallowed the hard lump in his throat and forced himself to meet her eyes. He was surprised to find they contained no fear or anger; instead, they glistened with a mixture of nervousness, hope, and desire. 

“Would you like to know a secret?” she asked quietly.

Severus could only stare at her, his mind unable to make sense of the fact that not only was she not trying to get away, but she seemed to enjoy being pressed so close to him. 

“I feel the same,” she whispered, and her hands came up to rest on his shoulders.

It was not his robes that made him lift his free hand and brush the hair back from her face. Nor did they make him lean forward, only to find Hermione tilting her head upwards and closing her eyes. They did give his neck a small nudge when he hesitated, causing their lips to meet.

Severus’s first thought as he pressed his mouth against Hermione’s was, _I’m kissing her!_

But any thoughts were quickly overpowered by the softness of Hermione’s lips beneath his own and the way she was gripping his shoulders with her fingertips. 

When Hermione began sucking on his bottom lip, the extent of his mental vocabulary became limited to single syllable words, like “Gods,” and “fuck,” and “yes,” though he did manage to string them together into a short sentence. 

His throat, however, only seemed to be able to make a soft growling sound as he tentatively angled his head and pushed the tip of his tongue out so it ran along Hermione’s upper lip. Her response was an equally inarticulate moan, and then her tongue flicked out of her mouth, entangling with his own. 

Eventually they both came up for air, staring at each other as they panted heavily, faces still inches apart.

“Do you like me Severus?” asked Hermione.

“Yes,” Severus admitted. 

“Do you want me, Severus?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like to kiss me again?” 

“Fuck yes,” Severus growled, capturing her lips greedily. At this his robes gave him another push forward until he had truly pinned Hermione’s body against the wall, his erection pressing firmly into her soft curves. 

She squirmed against him, one leg wrapping itself around his thigh as her fingers carded into his hair at the back of his neck. Fireworks were going off in Severus’s brain as their tongues entwined and he suckled on her bottom lip. 

_So fucking sweet. Beautiful. Everything. So good. Ah, Gods!_

She was grinding herself up against him now, and he moaned into her mouth as bolts of pleasure travelled down his cock and settled in his balls, which were positively aching for release. He was so caught up in the wonderfulness of it all that he didn’t even notice his arm detaching itself from the wall until his hand was scraping up her side and over her breast, making her hum into his mouth. 

Hermione broke their kiss and panted, “Would you like to come back to my quarters?”

His robes shoved his hips forward, grinding his cock into Hermione’s pelvis. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” said Hermione with a coy smile. Severus felt completely drunk, half-wondering if this was all a dream, but his robes nudged him backwards and then gave him a strong shove towards Hermione, who was already walking quickly down the corridor towards her rooms. 

Severus had never been to Hermione’s quarters before. They had always worked together in one of their offices, in the staff room, or in his laboratory. He was surprised but pleased to see they were not an abomination of red and gold like Minerva’s, but dressed rather conservatively in soft greens and blues. 

He didn’t have long to take them in before Hermione had thrown herself at him again, and he wrapped his arms around her gladly, still not entirely sure how he had managed to get here. 

“Oh, Severus, I’ve wanted you for so long,” gasped Hermione, pressing her lips against his. 

Severus pulled away from their kiss momentarily. “You have?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes, for years,” she said. “But I didn’t think you’d be interested. You’ve always been so aloof, and I was your student…”

“You haven’t been my student for almost a decade,” he said, his deep voice echoing between them. “I admit, I have wanted you for some time.”

“What made you finally act on it?”

“I found I was no longer able to stop myself,” he said smoothly. 

“Mmm,” Hermione hummed against his lips. “Well, thank Merlin for that.” 

Their passionate snog continued for some time in the sitting room, their hands running over each other’s robes and grabbing at the flesh underneath. 

“Shall we go into the bedroom?” Hermione asked, her hands skimming over his arse and then up to the buttons at his collar, fingering them lightly. 

Severus eyes could only widen in horror at the question. 

How was he going to explain he was stuck in his bloody robes until ten o’clock? 

Was it possible this wasn’t a dream, but a nightmare? Would she throw him out of the room when she discovered his robes were as firmly affixed to him as the Fat Lady’s portrait was to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room? 

He glanced at the clock as she kissed his jaw, apparently deciding she didn’t need an answer immediately. It was only nine o’clock.

 _Think_ , Severus, he thought, though it was awfully hard with her sucking on his earlobe and rubbing her hand over his erection through his robes. 

He supposed he would simply have to pleasure her for an hour until he could rid himself of the dastardly garments. That wouldn’t be so bad, really, as long as she didn’t mind. He intended to worship every inch of her body at one point or another regardless. 

But then Severus found Hermione’s delicate fingers peeling away his collar, deftly flicking each button through its hole until a deep V of his pale flesh was visible where the fabric had parted. 

“Bedroom, Severus? Or would you rather fuck me on the floor like an animal?” asked Hermione. 

Good lord, she had a wild streak! Not that he minded. Either of those two options sounded fine, actually, but for their first time together, he thought the bed was likely the better option. 

“Bedroom,” he purred, fighting the urge to laugh out loud in glee, and picked her up in his arms, eliciting a happy squeal from the witch. 

He tossed her on the bed, quickly ridding himself of his robes as she did the same. As his clothes fell into a soft pile around his feet, he felt power and control once more. 

Hermione was lying on her back on the bed, her naked body spread out before him and her eyes shimmering with desire. He’d never seen anything more beautiful in his life; he surprised himself by telling her so. 

She smiled and lifted her arms, inviting him to join her, which he did gladly. Perching himself over her body on the bed, he kissed her passionately, then trailed his lips down her neck. Her skin tasted slightly salty from sweat, and he licked and suckled his way across her chest. 

“Severus,” she purred and arched her body against him as he took one of her pebbled nipples into his mouth, sucking it and flicking it with his tongue. 

“No foreplay, Severus,” she whispered huskily, her eyes drooping in pleasure as he ran his fingers over the curls that covered her mound. “I want you inside me now.”

“Impatient witch,” Severus muttered, ignoring her request and dipping a finger between her thighs. She was sopping wet, and he knew she was going to feel fucking amazing around his cock. But he wanted to ensure her pleasure first, so with his thumb he found the button he knew would make her scream. She whimpered as he began to rub it in small circles. 

“What do you want, Hermione?” Severus purred, watching her face as it contorted in pleasure. 

“You,” she moaned, her hips bucking spastically under his hand as he applied more pressure to her clit. 

“You want my cock inside you?” he asked, dipping a single finger into her hot clutch.

“Yes! Oh, Merlin, please!” 

She was close, he could feel it, and he carefully added a second finger to her core, pressing both against the spongy spot towards her belly as he rubbed her clit with his thumb. 

That was enough to send her over the edge, and he felt her clamp down on his fingers and shudder hard as she climaxed.

Severus didn’t wait for her orgasm to wane before he positioned himself over her and guided his hard length inside her. She was slick and ready from his fingers and her release, and he slipped in easily. 

“Fuuuuuuck, yessssss,” she moaned as he buried himself to the hilt, her mouth forming a small O as he began thrusting inside her. 

She felt like soft, hot, molten bliss around his cock, and he forced himself not to thrash wildly against her like he so desperately wanted to. Gritting his teeth, he pushed in and out of her slowly, allowing her to get comfortable with his length before lifting her legs over his shoulders. Her eyes went wide, and then fluttered shut as he began to thrust into her again in the new position. The tip of his cock hammered into the soft spot inside her, and it took only seconds for her to reach climax once more. 

“Yes, come for me,” Severus growled, not stopping his pummelling as her insides pulsed around him. “You feel fucking amazing. You’re so fucking tight and wet for me.”

“Severus!”

Fuck yes, he could get used to hearing her screaming his name. 

He dropped her legs from his shoulders and allowed himself to hammer against her, feeling his damp balls slap against her skin as he pumped in and out of her channel, searching for his own release. 

“Tell me you want me,” he purred. 

“Severus, I want you. Gods, I want you! Fuck me! Yes! Severus!” she shrieked, and to his utter pleasure climaxed again, her words slipping into incoherent moans and whimpers. 

He could not hold back any longer as she shuddered beneath and around him, and he quickly spiralled into his own orgasm. Thrusting inside her deeply several times, pure pleasure exploded outwards from his balls and he sent his seed shooting inside her. 

When he was done, Severus fell forward against her, still supporting most of his body weight with his arms. They panted breathlessly against each other for some time, Severus feeling drunk and weightless.

_This must be a dream. A fairy tale._

Then he felt Hermione’s fingers tuck his straggly hair behind his ears and his eyes focused on her face once more. She was smiling earnestly and her eyes shared only happiness and affection. 

Severus allowed himself to smile back—a real smile, one that he never shared with anyone—and then he kissed her lips softly before collapsing to her side. 

He didn’t need the robes to help him fall asleep that night. The fabric remained inert, lying lifelessly on the floor, their spell broken by the actions of a witch. But curled up beside Hermione in her bed, his limbs entangled with hers, Severus found it quite easy to fall asleep. 

The next morning was the first in a week he woke up without robes on. Not only was he as naked as he was when he’d fallen asleep, but Hermione was kneeling between his thighs, sucking on his cock.

“Merlin’s glorious tits!” Severus growled as his brain registered that the pleasurable sensations emanating from his groin were the result of Hermione’s lips and tongue bobbing over his length. He quickly tangled his fingers in her hair, guiding her mouth into the rhythm that he liked. 

_Gods… fuck… yes… OH!_

He came hard and his eyes practically bugged out of his head as he watched Hermione suckle him until he was soft, swallowing his load as her eyes smiled up at him deviously. 

Severus laughed softly as she curled up beside him and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Good morning,” she chirped happily.

 _Bloody fucking fantastic morning_ , he thought, curling his arms around her possessively. She snuggled into his chest, and Severus let his gaze wander to their clothing, which lay forgotten on the floor from the night before. Her eyes, apparently, did the same, for she said, “You know, Severus, as handsome as you look in those new robes, I think I prefer them on the floor.”

“I could not agree with you more,” said Severus with a smile. 

They never bothered him again. But then, with Hermione, his life was very much improved.


End file.
